HANNAH (Silicon Valley Billionaires 3)

I shook my head. “I think both of those women might be trying to kill me.”

Hannah giggled.

“It’s not funny.”

I told her more about my day until we pulled down the long drive toward Solange, the resort I’d booked, a little while later. The Spanish-tiled, sprawling building was softly lit with twinkling white lights. A massive fountain bubbled next to a large tree with low-hanging branches. The intimate, sparkling courtyard had a magical feel, making me wonder if wood nymphs or very expensive gnomes lived somewhere nearby.

Hannah sighed deeply. “Oh Wes, this is gorgeous. It’s so serene—I love it.”

I grinned, proud of my googling skills (and also that I’d taken Gabe’s advice to book this particular resort). “It’s okay.”

I tried to hide my wince as I got out of the car, but, as usual, Hannah missed nothing.

“What the hell did Ashley do to you today?”

I shrugged, but even that hurt my muscles. “She punished me for going rogue and getting rid of the wheelchair. But it doesn’t matter”—I gestured to the bellhops, who were collecting our bags—“everything’s taken care of. I don’t need to lift a finger.”

I tried not to grimace as we climbed the steps to the entrance, but Hannah still frowned at me.

All frowning ceased as we entered the lobby, which boasted a floor-to-ceiling fireplace, gorgeous tiled floors, and more artfully arranged couch

es than I could process.

“This is stunning,” Hannah said. “Wow.”

Our suite was even better—we had our own private courtyard, complete with a plunge pool and several bottles of local wines chilling in the dedicated wine fridge.

I grabbed a bottle of Pinot and opened it. The plunge pool and what Hannah and I could do in it were already making me sweat. Could Brian and the other guys hear us out there?

“We did not have accommodations like this in the marines.”

“This is high-class.” Hannah accepted her glass of wine and smiled approvingly. “Me likey.”

“And you didn’t want to come.” I licked my lips, which had gone dry. Jesus, I can’t even say the word “come.”

Hannah wrinkled her nose. “Baby? Are you okay?”

The therapist’s words came back to me. “Go away for the weekend, have a glass of wine, then have sex.”

I put my glass down untouched. “I’m good.”

“Are you…” Hannah’s voice trailed off, and she looked unsure. “Hungry?”

I stood up immediately, and my stupid thighs screamed again. “Starving.”

“Okay. Just let me get changed, and we can go eat in the bar?”

I kissed her forehead, yearning for so much more—but simultaneously feeling like I was dodging a bullet. “It’s a date.”

Chapter 18

Hannah

I knew what was bothering Wes, even if he didn’t want to say it.

He had stage fright. Sexy-hotel stage fright.

It takes one to know one.